


The Eagle.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Olwë witnesses Estë soothing an injured eagle.Day 2: Valar.
Kudos: 4
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month (B2MEM) 2021





	The Eagle.

It happened that Olwë, lord of Alqualondë, was walking with Olórin on the glittering path to Valmar. Olórin was lately returned from the House of Nienna, and eager for laughter and news. Olwë spoke freely of his family, his folk, and most keenly of his beloved ships, the delight of his heart. Olórin laughed merrily and Olwë with him, and the waning of Telperion turned the sparkling dust all to silver, as white as the locks of the Elf-lord.

But on a sudden, Olórin stopped still, and Olwë turned to see a frown on the fair face of the Maia.   
"Is all well? Have I misspoken?"  
Olórin shook his head "Nay, it is the cry in the air, the call of a wounded bird, if my hearing serve me well. Come, let us hasten our steps!"  
But to the astonishment of Olwë, Olórin took him by the arm and hurried along the pale, gleaming path.

After a time, Olwë himself heard the dreadful cry, a screeching of anguish, that chilled his blood.  
"What is it? What bird cries thus? Olórin, can you not say?"  
"I do not know! Methinks a great eagle, perchance of Manwë, for I feel his presence draw near."  
Olwë was astonished, rare indeed were the occasions that Manwë felt it meet to descend from his high seat on Taniquetil. Yet the path no longer stretched open before them, Elves were gathering, and Maia, all hearing the cries of the bird, and all in doubt and wonder. But Olórin hastened onwards, glancing neither left nor right, offering no hint of his thought or mood to the troubled Elf at his side.

Then forth from amidst the trees Aiwendil approached, and hailed Olórin.  
"Aiwendil! My true friend! What is amiss?"  
"Methinks it is the call of Aerëlarca, do you not perceive his mighty voice?"  
But Olórin shook his head "Nay, for I have given little thought to the creatures with voices other than our own. Nor would I know him did he stand, or perch before me. But what dread wound can cause such torment? For see, all are drawn hither at his cry!"  
"Manwë!" cried Aiwendil, and all eyes turned to where the Lord of Air, Manwë Súlimo himself strode forth, and borne on his wrist a great eagle, and silence fell on all gathered there; but Manwë did not pause, and the elves followed him.

But Aiwendil gripped the arm of Olórin with fear in his brown eyes "It was in truth the cry of Aerëlarca, swiftest and most blessed of all the messengers of Manwë! But never have I seen so distressed an eagle, did you not mark the disorder of his plumage, the clouding of his glance, and the gape of his beak? Truly, some dread fate has befallen him! Methinks Manwë, stirred by the plight of his friend, bears him in haste to Lórellin, that Estë herself may tend to the injured bird. But do you come now with me, for I know a swifter path, though not for the feet of those such as Manwë to tread! And we may come there before them."

Olwë followed the two Maiar, through glades of flowers, along a narrow way less even than a path, beneath hanging fruit and boughs laden with blossom, and amidst the bright dancing of small birds. None came behind them, all others followed in the wake of Manwë and the sore-afflicted eagle. Olwë did cast a glance back at the throng, but none had bid him hence, therefore he strengthened his resolve and hastened after the Maiar, through dell and copse, over rill and under thicket, in the dimness of the quiet of Telperion, his shadow scarcely seen in the deeper shade about them, and his steps silent on the softness of moss and turf at their feet.

And after long silence beneath the trees, when Olwë felt himself altogether forgotten, they came at last to the edge of the great lake Lórellin, glittering like the path they had forsaken, silver and dark in the gentle light of Telperion. There on the shore, tall as a tree, and clad in silvery grey, Estë the Healer awaited the arrival of Manwë, and at last Olórin broke silence.  
"Do we wait here, Aiwendil, it is not meet that we intrude."  
"Nay, my friend, I must go forth, I have studied long at the feet of Estë, mayhap there is aught that I, yea, even I, may offer in aid, even to the mighty Estë."  
Olórin paused and looked long at his friend, then nodded slowly. "Your counsel is wise in this, do you go on, and we shall stand watch."

Olwë looked to Olórin, but the Maia paid him no heed, and there on the path came Manwë, and Aerëlarca the stricken hung his head, his wings drooping sadly over the bright robes of the Lord of Arda. And Estë came forth and raised her arm, and with gentle hand did Manwë aid the eagle to step from his arm to the Lady of Rest, and then the head of Aerëlarca raised, and he turned his sharp beak to the Lady; but she lifted up her other hand and smoothed the ruffled feathers beneath his chin.   
And Manwë spoke then, in the tongue of the Valar, that few among the Eldar had mastered, but Estë smiled, and as she did so the eagle seemed to sigh, and settle his disordered plumage somewhat, and Estë softly crooned, until her voice lifted into the Song of Healing, and all the Eldar, and all the Maiar gathered there raised their hearts and their voices, until above all singers the voice of Manwë himself was raised, and the tears sprang into the eyes of Olwë, as though some hurt in himself were healing, though he could not say what. 

But Olórin turned to him, as Estë departed into the grey mists of her isle, and the eyes of the Maia were troubled.  
"There are grim tidings from the shores of the old world, my friend. Aerëlarca has endured fumes of poison, brewed by the Enemy of all that is good, aye, and worse! He has seen the monstrous labours in the north of that land, where the very earth is writhen in anguish, and foul heaps of spoil grow like cankers on the green hills. New mountains are raised, mountains of iron, and filth, and the schemes and treacheries of our foe are plain before us.  
I share your grief my friend, for your brother who lingered, though he himself, they say, was most forward in the quest to return hither. It might be that more than mere chance led our steps here today. For I urge you now to delay your return to your kinfolk at Alqualondë, and to seek rest here with the Lady Estë, and indeed with Aiwendil. Stay, Olwë, though I do not command it! Rest here, lest your grief at the parting from your brother and your dread of his fate disorder your wisdom.  
Stay awhile, and rest with the eagle."

  



End file.
